


Rye & Dean

by Elizabeth1985



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blind Addiction, M/M, OC, Offshoot of my story Blind Addiction, Oral Sex, POV switch, Sweet, bottom!rye, for those who like Rye, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 09:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11124252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: For those who have been reading my story Blind Addiction and have taken a liking to the inadvertent ship of Rye/Dean, please enjoy some Rye/Dean action. This one-shot continues fromChapter 15.This one-shot is to be taken as completely separate from the storyline of BA, and should not be thought of as like a hidden scene or secret scene. It does not happen in BA.Lastly, I think I could write a whole fucking novel about Rye tbh.





	Rye & Dean

**Author's Note:**

> I realize not a lot of people will read this, but for the ones who do -- this is all for you :) Lots of love xox

He had to knock a few times before the demon opened up, which was unusual. And he saw why when the man pulled the door back. Rye was blitzed out to a degree Dean had never seen, his hipster pompadour haircut disheveled, blueish brown eyes wide and pained. All he wore was a pair of boxers and gym shorts. His chest and abs sparsely decorated in artistic tats.

Dean pushed his way into the room and closed the door. “What’s wrong with you?”

His friend plunked on the bed, burying his face in his hands. Dean wasn’t sure, but he thought maybe Rye was… crying. Maybe. Did demons cry? “It’s stupid,” his friend mumbled.

“Obviously not.”

Rye peeked out from behind his fingers and exhaled hard. “You’ll laugh.”

Given the way his buddy was looking, Dean was pretty damn certain he wouldn’t be finding anything funny. “I won’t. Promise.”

“Ok, well…, uh, I went on a date. Against the boss’ explicit orders of course.”

Why would Zeta redlight any of them dating? “And big boss man gave you a heaping mound of shit for it?” he guessed.

Shaking his head, Rye brushed it off. “No, no. He’s just looking out for us. That’s not— I don’t even blame him. But I fucking should’ve listened to him anyway,” his voice rose as he spoke, “cause then I wouldn’t have had to deal with some fucking tweaker who not only tried to drug my ass—like hello? Demon, bitch!—But the asshole tried to rob me?! The fucker tried to rob _me!?”_

Rye popped up off the bed and started pacing in the room. “How do you do it? How am I supposed to go out, to like a club every once a goddamn century and try to magically find love?! Is that how it happens? I don’t fucking think so!” he sang, arms wildly gesturing, up and sideways. “You know, we hear all these goddamn stories about how horrible we are, how we were made to be the creepiest of the creeps and you know what, I’m a nice guy, Dean. I’m a real nice fucking guy but right now, gotta say, kinda want to kill some people. Like some serious A-quality murder about now. And that’s wrong,” he rambled, messing his hair further, “I know that’s wrong because it actually pains me to think about it—you know why?!”

Oh, he was asking… “Um, cause you’re a nice guy?” Dean ventured.

“Exactly!” Rye pointed hard in his direction. “Cause I’m a nice fucking guy. But’chya know what? Nice guys finish last, Dean. So maybe, maybe I don’t want to be a nice guy. Maybe I’ve been horny for ten thousand years and I’m getting a little itchy, you know. A little, wee-bit crazy. Everyone’s allowed to go bonkers. I mean, look at you!”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you’re bonkers as ballsacs!”

Dean was failing to understand how that made sense, but somewhere in all of Rye’s blabbering and flailing he understood one thing: His friend was hurting and alone. Dean could relate. But to be honest, he had zero clue had to comfort the guy. It wasn’t as if he had his own love life figured out. Far fucking from it. There certainly weren’t any ‘How To’ books on comforting demons.

“I just—” Rye seemed to cave in on himself, “I’m actually trying, ya know?”

Christ. Dean steeled himself and walked forward. He wrapped Rye in his arms and gave the demon a damn hug. “Sorry, man,” he shushed, “life’s a royal bitch and it ain’t your fault. Most men are jerks.”

Rye chuckled. “Like you, right?”

Dean couldn’t help but pinch some nearby skin. “Hey now, don’t be calling the guy hugging you any names or he’ll hit the road.”

“Got it.” The demon sagged against Dean with a sigh, toned arms getting snug around his waist. It was kinda nice. Warm, comforting. Fucking cozy, if he were being honest.

It was distinctly clear the moment his arms wrapped around Rye became less cozy and a lot weird. Nothing changed exactly, yet the air around them prickled. Something emanated from Rye, a longing Dean knew all too well.

For all his solid willpower the last few days, this was _really_ not what he needed.

Rye wasn’t the warm body he craved, but it was a warm body. One he could enjoy without strings if he wanted. The temptation was undeniable. The repercussions and fallout somehow not rising to the forefront of his mind.

His arms loosened, and Rye eased back a sparse couple inches to look at him. “Well this sure got weird.”

Dean huffed an awkward laugh, finding it wasn’t easy to take a step back. “No shit.”

Every passing second, he thought about putting distance between them. His feet refused to move. Rye was half naked in his arms, hair spiked Einstein-style, and captivating eyes that reflected the same broken vulnerability Dean felt on the day-to-day.

In that moment, he _wanted_. Not just for the release, but endless other things. Normalcy, an escape, a less complicated hour of his life where he wasn’t only focused on loss, regret, and guilt.

Commiserating sex sans strings was a tease even a bottle of JD couldn’t hope to compete with.

One of Rye’s tat’s read, “ _Feed Your Demons”_ in casual cursive, and Dean thought…

_...Okay._

Whatever poor decision he’d reached must have reflected clearly in his eyes, or maybe it was the way he was leaning closer. Or maybe it was how he’d just licked his lips, watching...

Rye blinked at him, ever so slightly drawing back, his expression threaded with an emotion Dean couldn’t make sense of. Hesitation and worry and need and pain competing for the win. “You don’t have to… I mean, I know you don’t...” he muttered, voice fading to silence, shifting his focus away from Dean.

The demon was ready to pull away, guilt and embarrassment crowding over his earlier distress.

“No one _has_ to do anything right now,” Dean reassured. He splayed his hand over the back of Rye’s neck; the demon’s skin balmy and flushed. “Right now, it’s only about what we want, what we… need.” Taking a hard look at his friend, he catalogued the stark loneliness that seemed to crawl towards Dean and draw him in.

“And what do you want… exactly?”

“It’s a long list,” he smiled. “But for right now, I want to be whatever you need in whatever limited capacity I can.”

“What I need is…” Rye’s lip curled, pain manifesting in tight lines across his features, “it’s beyond you. We both know that.”

“I know.”

“Which means...”

“It means you either let me in if you want, and we take this for what it is, or tell me to leave… or, fuck, we binge on reality tv. Up to you.” Dean watched his words be absorbed, saw Rye’s hesitant stare glaze with the raging war inside him. A man who wasn’t a man, wanting love yet continually relegated to a solitary existence. At some point, having a portion of the whole had become appealing. Gently squeezing the back of Rye’s neck, he traced his thumb down a line of muscle. “You want me to go?”

“No.” A smile twitched at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Dean surveyed the resignation and building desire, seeing a friend in need, someone he truly cared for despite his efforts to the contrary. Both of them failing in life and looking for a moment’s break from the grind. He saw an echo of himself in the other man, and had a feeling Rye felt the same. They seemed equally comforted and annoyed by the reflection of self.

As his brain came to terms with what was going to happen, Dean’s arousal stirred. Not in the fiery all-consuming way it did with Cas from the barest touch, but pleasant and controlled.

He raised his hands to frame Rye’s face, watching a dark interest dance in his dual-toned eyes. As Dean closed the distance, he caught a glimpse of diffidence and it surprised him.

There wasn’t time to dwell on it, because before he knew it, the demon’s soft lips were pliant and warm beneath his. Dean knew his role instantly as he felt Rye let go inside his arms, felt the way his mouth opened with ease, not just letting Dean take control but blatantly giving it to him.

For a fleeting second, he wondered if it was possible Rye was inexperienced? Or if he was just on the close side of submissive? It didn’t give him pause, he knew that wasn’t what either of them wanted. This wasn’t time to analyze things.

Instead, he tipped Rye’s head back and tasted him a little more. The demon took a sharp breath against Dean, cool air ghosting through the kiss. Remnants of a smoke leftover on his lips was a sharp flavour in Dean’s mouth, and the faintest notes of alcohol greeted his tongue. It felt good to savour something, to not be afraid of it or some cataclysmic eventuality.

With Rye, it was just _now_.

Just his hand threading into the mess of Rye’s hair, his hips curling forward at the same moment the demon pulled him in. Just this. And only now.

Dean kissed him the same way he devoured a meal. He gave himself over to the task, enjoyed every lick, and bite, taking a breath only when it was necessary.

They gradually made their way to the bed, shuffling over the carpet. Holding Rye’s face in his hands, he broke the kiss and put a narrow inch between them. The demon’s eyes were wide, infused with an innocent hunger. Once more, Dean wondered but didn’t dare ask. There was no way a millennials old being of the underworld was a virgin.

Impossible. _Right?_

Either way, it made Dean feel incredibly protective, his desire to give the other man pleasure creeping outside the lines of helping a friend. His hands skimmed down Rye’s bare skin, every inch flushed and tight under his fingers.

He kissed the side of Rye’s mouth and stepped back. With those peculiar eyes watching, Dean shucked his clothes in haphazard piles on the floor and then moved back to his station before the demon and reached for his gym shorts.

***

Rye swallowed the moment Dean’s fingers tucked into his waistband, his bright stare never deviating from Dean’s calm deportment. He felt the elastic stretch over his hips, Dean nudging them lower, neither of them breaking eye contact to take a gander of anything south of the border.

The hypocrisy of the moment mocked him. This fucking human settled into _his_ base, flaunting his beautiful angel and his tormented love story. Crying out an angsty chorus of woe-is-me. Rye had been livid. All his fucking life, his very long life mind you, he wanted what they were so fucking careless with. And now? Well, suffice to say he was cruelly reminded that everything was shades of grey. What a man can tolerate and what he can’t.

Dean couldn’t deal with the fear. Poor human was goddamn paralyzed by it.

Rye, on the other hand, couldn’t deal with the open abyss of forever stretching out in front of him. Another hundred thousand years of being alone. Already it’d been so long since he was with someone, the memory was faded. If not for the daily porn he indulged in, he’d fucking forget how to spread his legs. No one would guess. Being obnoxious and crude had a way of clouding the truth to even his brothers.

How the shit had he wound up being a hopeless romantic demon? Probably the only one on the fucking planet too. _Figured._

“Hey?”

Dean’s voice was close, his breath a tickle against Rye’s lips. “Hmm?”

“You, uh, spaced out a little there.” Dean suspected something was amiss. Not a dummy this one, that was good.

“Sorry.” He met Dean’s eyes, they were conflicted. Best to put a stop to that. “Really, I’m here. Me want. You want. Need, yadda. You know.”

Dean chuckled, a serene reassurance softening his worried gaze. “Your communication skills astound me,” he teased.

“I’m high and…” he sighed, not wanting to put an honest spin on his current state of mind. He felt Dean’s knuckle drag against the now-bare rise of his hip, a gentle coax for him to speak up. “Please,” was all he felt comfortable saying.

Thank fuck, the hunter understood. A shallow nod and he ducked in towards Rye’s neck, rough unshaven stubble scraping skin until the press of lips sent a shiver down his spine. Jesus H, how long had it been since he’d actually had another man’s lips on him? 1930— No, 1920-something. Definitely during the early years of the prohibition. A rare night out, an illegal basement bar. A guy named Will.

Rye’s breath caught as he felt Dean’s teeth scrape and pinch just below his ear. He didn’t quite moan, but something strangled its way out of his throat. Apparently that shit happens when you deny yourself for decades upon decades.

After Dean had thoroughly assaulted his neck, no doubt leaving his skin damp and red, the hunter stepped back, eyeing him without shame.

Well then. Haven’t felt this fucking naked in a good long while, he thought. Green eyes trailed over his skin, taking in his ink, likely noting the difference between the older muted greenish ones and the newer colourful artistic abstracts.

Rye had never been a big guy. Not compared to the behemoths he called brothers. Instead of bulk and mass, he was lean lines and solid muscle. Understated strength, he thought. Like a dancer, or so he’d been told over the years.

Dean’s eyes flickered up to his, one eyebrow ticked upward. “Preference?”

What a damn gentleman. Rye smirked at his new friend, giving himself away. “Pretty sure you know.”

A hint of a smile perked Dean’s gorgeous lips. Oh yeah, he knew alright. Rye wondered if that surprised him.

Taking the lead, Dean moved in on him, cupping the back of his neck and angling him for a deep kiss. Rye succumbed to the gentle tease of Dean’s toungue against his, letting his senses soak up all that he’d been starved of.

Dean’s muscled arm wrapped around his back, their chests pressing together before Dean hoisted him just off his toes before driving them both forward onto the bed, falling in a bouncy mess of naked.

The glorious full-length contact of skin and Dean’s hard chest against his own drew a lightheaded chuckle from him. Why had he denied himself a healthy fuck every now and then? Good god, why _?_

 _Love dumbass_ , his mind readily supplied.

Oh, right. Pushing aside the reminder of what this _wasn’t_ he reached back under his pillow and grabbed for the well-used, nearly empty bottle of lube. Without looking, he handed it off, letting his head drop back against the mattress, his eyes on the ceiling, a haze of his earlier smoke still running through his veins. He could burn it out if he wanted. Demons only let substances affect them if they allowed it.

But damn if that good old THC didn’t take the edge off. The feel of Dean’s hands on his knees was like an anchor to the earth when his head was flying. Gentle pressure guided his legs to fall to the sides and he sucked back a needed breath. Dean placed a kiss to the inside of his thigh, a word or two was murmured to him but he was too blissed out to make sense of it. Nearly a hundred years without another’s breath on his skin was a very long time.

Another murmur, more insistent. He should pay attention but Dean’s near warmth was intoxicating. Not cause it was Dean exactly, but simply another man. One he actually happened to like and care about. Trust even. How the shit had that happened! Trusting a hunter. God-fucking-damn.   

“Rye.” Dean’s voice was barely louder than a whisper but sharp as crack.

Raising his lead-weighted noggin off the bed was not without effort. He blinked, trying to focus on the man sitting back on his heels between Rye’s sluttily splayed legs. Being easy came naturally to the unfucked it would seem.

“Hmm?”

“Are you—” Dean frowned, a crease of confusion denting between his brows. “You’ve done this before, right? I mean, I get how ridiculous that sounds but like—”

“––Don’t fret, my naked friend. No deflowering for you. It’s just been a while.”

Scrutinizing him, Dean narrowed his eyes. “What, like a couple months or somethin?”

Ha. “Sure… let’s go with that.”

“Years?!” Dean asked incredulously.

Rye groaned. Easing his back off the bed and being annoyed he had to move at all, he met Dean’s wide focused green eyes and slapped a hand over his horrified gaping mouth. “No laughing or mocking but... yes. Decades actually.” Dean’s eyebrows shot upward. “Not a word from you about it. Unless of course you’re focusing on this shocking revelation and delaying what you started because you don’t really want to be here. And I get it, I am sorry about what you’re going through”––the hunter fought to speak but Rye could overpower him any day of the week, stoned and naked–– “I’m all about taking what you wanna give, but if you act all weird about it after, I will lock you and your angel in the kink room and not let you out for days.”

Swallowing, Dean nodded. Satisfied and hoping Dean wouldn’t second guess this hasty decision and leave, Rye removed his hand and leaned back on his arms. He’d be damned if he was going to let the hunter see how badly he needed to be touched, to have pleasure come from a source other than his own fucking hand.

They stared at each other for a beat, assessing the moment silently. Dean reached forward and splayed his hand against Rye’s chest, giving him a light shove backward. “Lay down and get comfy then, I got this.” A smirk lifted his features and if Dean noticed his sigh of relief, he didn’t show it.

Falling back to the mattress, he closed his eyes and felt the return of Dean’s hands on his skin. He knew what the man was doing, sweeping the warmth of his palm over his thighs and across his chest, and as much as he tried to relax into it, his body primed itself to feel the spark of touch between his legs. There was simply no sensual massage good enough to erase his nerves and anticipation.

***

_Decades?!_

Jesus, Dean still couldn’t believe it. After that bomb, it made sense the way Rye acted. The undercurrent of tension rippling through his muscles, how he shook a little when Dean touched him despite the fact it was hot as hell in here.

Much as he tried to relax his friend, nothing seemed to work. Maybe nothing would. Keeping his attention on Rye’s features, he lubed a couple fingers, massaging the man’s inner thigh with his free hand and pressed in between his cheeks.

Dean nudged his slick finger against Rye’s entrance, working the lube around a little, getting him used to being touched again before diving right in. Ripples of tension snaked across his body, tattoos twisting and moving, a slow breath eased from his mouth.

It’d been a long time since Dean felt entrusted with someone else’s pleasure so completely. He wondered why Rye was giving it to him now. After so long…

He decided not to think about. Instead he placed a kiss to the man’s raised knee and exerted a little pressure, watching his breath catch, pushing in. Heat surrounded his finger and it dizzied him with a wave of arousal.

For a quick moment or two, he continued to press in and pull back, occasionally twisting his hand and running the pad of his finger in a curling motion inside. Rye’s back arched every time, his lips seemed to be forced apart by each new breath. Taking that as a good sign, he eased another digit in alongside the first, twisting and stretching. He worked up a rhythm, screwing in with both fingers and curling them up as he pulled out.

Rye’s flushed body moved with the motion, subconsciously chasing his touch. Dean might have one hell of an off-the-rails love life, ripe with problems and unanswered questions, but _this?_ Making someone feel good was something he was very fucking good at.

Broken gasps punctuated the overall silence, and the way Rye’s lips moved and the glimpse of his tongue inside his mouth told Dean he was trying to find some words but hadn’t quite got to the point of making sound.

Dean paused, giving him a minute to catch his breath. “Okay?”

The demon nodded in a loose-hinged gesture, eyes softly closed. “Hmm. Yeah,” he smiled, looking young in the non-traditional sense, as if he hadn’t seen every war and every horrible thing the world has done.

Most men would be demanding to be fucked at this point. Extended foreplay never really went beyond a quick prep to avoid discomfort. But Rye seemed to be loving it, wanting to draw out every touch instead of skipping towards a rapid finish.

Dean was just fine with that. He bent forward, working his fingers deep as he took the head of Rye’s cock in his mouth. It and the man it was attached to flinched, the latter immediately relaxing. A moan rose up in the quiet and Dean felt Rye’s fingers snake into his hair.

Working his mouth over the rigid sex, Dean took a breath through his nose and went as far as he could.

In an abortive reflex, Rye thrust up against him, a murmur of noise drifting down to his ears. He used his free hand to hold the demon still, keeping his pace in check.

For god only knew how long, he gently sucked and bobbed his head while his fingers turned and teased.

Rye didn't ask for him to move on or do anything different. He just took everything and let it unwind him. Few things were better than watching someone come undone.

Once he sensed that Rye was bordering on delirium he gave a final twirl of his tongue, slowly dragging his lips up over the hard cock and eased out his fingers.

A sharp whimper cut through the room. Dean kissed his legs with a smile, enjoying the _humph_ his touch elicited. He almost asked for a condom then remembered who and _what_ he was about to fuck and realized there wasn’t a need. Lubing his cock, his eyes closed in languid blinks as his arousal grew into a presence his body couldn’t ignore.

Dean grabbed the underside of Rye’s knee and let his own weight ease it back. The demon’s eyes flicked open, so black only the outer brown showed through, his pleasure erasing the blue. Breathing heavily, their eyes met and Rye tried to grin the way he normally would but now Dean saw through his facade.

Arching his back, he captured the demon’s mouth in a kiss, barely parting as he lined himself up and pressed the head of his cock against Rye. In a slow, inch-by-inch shift of his hips, Dean buried himself in the welcome heat of the other man.

Rye’s mouth fell open, his breaths quickly became erratic as Dean withdrew and eased back in. Little by little, he fucked into Rye until he was sure there wouldn’t be an ounce of discomfort when he started to really move.

The first real snap of his hips felt so good he almost missed the reaction; his eyes slamming shut and his brain detouring to the exit signs. But he forced them open, catching the tightening of Rye’s jaw, every long expanse of muscle hardening and softening.

When Rye went slack, and his hands reached back to clutch the pillow above his head, Dean kept moving. Hard and fast until his breath ran out, then soft and slow until the demon under him was squirming and giving up broken moans that were all desperation and no composure.

As bad as he was at control, Dean made it last as best he could. After he got bored the current position, and sure as hell wanting to keep Rye on his toes, Dean scooped him up and sat back.

It was amusing to see the demon settle almost bonelessly in his lap, to watch his head tip back. A tattoo that run up the side of his neck, geometric patterns mixed with gorgeous cool-toned flowers, stretched along the tendons of his throat. There was no denying that Rye was captivating and gorgeous. Passive acceptance of pleasure had never been something Dean was very good at it and he envied the way Rye could let go, giving himself over to the sensations.

Dean tightly wound his arms around Rye’s waist and rocked him in place. The position didn’t lend itself to frantic fucking, but he didn’t care. With every shallow thrust, he pulled Rye against his hips and pushed himself as deep as he could.

Going for a marathon of ecstasy, Dean hoisted the demon off him, smiling at the grimace stretching his mouth from the unexpected pause, and manhandled him until Rye was on his back, a pillow under his hips with both legs twisted to one side. He looked confused. Fair enough, it wasn’t a common position but Dean knew how to work it well.

He hooked his hand under Rye’s knee and positioned himself. If he got it just right, the height of the pillows, position of a lover’s hips, he could really nail it—

“Fuuuck,” Rye cursed in a breezy whisper, his body jerking limply to absorb the force of Dean’s hips and the assault on his senses as Dean’s cock gave his prostate an explosion of sensation and pressure.

He fucked Rye in a mix of rapid strokes and slow torturous thrusts, every time pushing into him _just_ fucking right. Rye was sweating and murmuring nonsense, curses in foreign languages perhaps.

When his friend started to shake, his eyes flashing Dean a pleading look, he knew it wouldn’t be long. And thank god because he couldn’t hold off much longer, not with the way Rye’s body kept contracting around his cock, all slick and hot.

Dean positioned Rye’s leg over his shoulder and reached for his straining erection, closing his fingers around it and jerking him in time with the fluid motions of his hips. They were both so close, the world they couldn’t handle far in the background.

Without breaking his rhythm, Dean let go of Rye’s warm hard sex to spit into his hand. When he went right back to it, now with has hand sliding over Rye’s length with ease, the demon tensed up from head to toe, his eyes screwed shut and his lips parted as he bared his teeth in a blissful grimace.

“Oh god,” Dean whispered, taking in the sight of his friend on the verge of tipping over. Christ, it was enough to push Dean near the edge too. He slammed his hips into Rye. _Hard._ And didn’t stop, even as a telling pressure built inside and tingled down his shaft to his balls.  “Fuck,” he panted, “I’m, ahhh, I’m close.”

Dean fought back his impending orgasm and put every last ounce of energy into giving those last few seconds all he had. Thrusting with the force of a collision, the dull thud of their bodies reverberated in his thighs. His fist closed around Rye’s feverishly hot cock and jacked him in sharp quick pumps.

Rye’s entire body went taut, his jaw flexed and then a violent shudder seized him. Dean felt every spasm around his cock as Rye’s orgasm flooded his senses. It lingered and went on, each contraction making Dean dizzy.

Holding Rye in position was abandoned the instant Dean’s orgasm shot off. He collapsed over his friend, his throbbing cock mindlessly working into Rye’s ass, wanting every last moment of friction and heat.

As the shaking from an onslaught of endorphins settled, and the room grew quiet except for their laboured breathing, he tried to reorient the new blurred lines of his life.

He’d just fucked Rye. And it had been fucking great.

Dean realized how tightly he’d been wound, how relief mellowed him for all of five seconds until he took a deep breath and smelled someone who wasn’t Cas. It hit him like a fucking brick to the face.

As much as he cared about Rye, had enjoyed being with him. He wasn’t Cas. And god knew Dean wasn’t the kind of love Rye had been looking for. They’d both been settling. Taking another option because number one wasn’t available.

Fuck, why couldn’t it be this easy with Cas? Why did loving Cas have to feel like he was dying half the time.

Sweat coated his skin. He collected his shaky remaining strength and pushed himself up. Despite the sweet satisfaction that softened Rye’s features, his eyes were filled with caution.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, abruptly craving ten shots of whiskey. Icy guilt and a feeling of utter ineptitude sank into his gut like an unwanted anchor. “Sorry,” he said, calling out the elephant in the room as he used post-coital moments to think of someone who wasn’t the man behind him. “You deserve better.”

“Dean…” Rye sounded on edge, as if he saw Dean quietly falling apart. “How about we throw some clothes on and knock each other’s heads off for a while, if you want. I told you— I’ve got great stamina. One good fuck a century and I’m set.”

Normally, he would’ve laughed. But he couldn’t muster it. “Why can’t it be as easy as this?”

When Rye spoke, his tone was teasing but direct. “Because he’s the love of your life, dum dum.”

At that, Dean did huff a laugh. “Yeah… circumstantial bullshit, huh. You love someone and sanity goes out the window, making you incapable of going after what you want. It’s a great big cosmic joke.”

It was quiet and after a while Dean felt Rye’s palm smoothing across his naked back. It felt nice and he closed his eyes, realizing how strange their friendship had become. “This doesn’t make us fuck buddies,” warned Dean, his voice lilted the same way as when he flirted.

Rye punched him. “Ha. One night stand... buddy... fucking?” he suggested in a broken sentence.

At that, Dean cracked a laugh. “Yeah, sure… we’ll go with that.”

Before he eased off the bed in search of his clothes, he turned around and took the side of Rye’s face in his hand and pulled him close. “You are an amazing guy and you will find someone, I promise you that.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” his friend said cheekily.

Touché. “Pretty sure about this one.”

Leaning in for a last time, Dean kissed his friend. It wasn’t passionate or sexual, but somehow comforting.

“Hey,” Rye called out from the bed as Dean was pulling his clothes on, “got any feedback for me? I mean it’s been a while, so...”

Shaking his head, he met the other man’s eyes—the earlier dilated black receded; blue and brown now staring back at him. “Alright,” he began, licking his bottom lip and still tasting Rye on his tongue. “Tight, delicious, and awesomely slutty.”

Rye ducked forward in a sudden fit of laughter. “How am I _at all_ slutty?” he snorted. Absently, he swiped his fingers over his head, brushing back his fuck-tangled hair.

“Because you remind me of me.” Dean winked and ducked out the door.

***

Rye didn’t stop giggling for a solid two minutes after Dean left. He splayed out on the bed, feeling the subtle reminders in his body of what they’d done. Holy bananas he had seriously forgotten how good it was to _feel_ another man on top of him, in him, tasting him.

All these years he’d abstained because casual sex didn’t seem the right way to find the love of one’s life. But Dean’s obviously had more than his share of willing bodies in his life, judging by his skillset anyway, and that sorry human had found love, so why couldn't Rye get out there and mix it up.

When all this devil baby stuff was done-dee, this demon was going to slap his heart on his tattooed bicep and not just wait for love but he was going to get out there and track that shit down. And if he had to engage in some casual sex along the way, well, he would just have to suffer the terrible experience of an orgasm in the name of love, now wouldn’t he.

He smiled at the ceiling and rolled over on the bed, his blood still soaked with endorphins. Breathing in the leftover scent of sex, he let out a sound of wordless excitement; something between a groan and huff.

Maybe it had taken Dean and his angel and their rocky beginning to give him the push he needed, the reminder of what he wanted.

 _Hmm._ Whenever those two finally worked out their kinks, he’d have to give them a gift basket or some shit.

**Author's Note:**

> My sweet demon, in search of love. You'll find it!


End file.
